Slow Refrain
by KyotoraV
Summary: Like a slow refrain of music there are those in our lives that move with us, that make us dance, that haunt us when they're gone. Glitch/Cain.


Wyatt pulled the too-large hat down further over his eyes. The only sound was a soft skitting of charcoal on paper. He sat up a little further, leaning back against the rock and lifting the brim of his hat.

"Ambrose…could you please stop that?" He grunted out. A brightly dressed boy of twelve annuals looked from his pad of paper, tongue protruding slightly from his mouth in concentration. He pursed his lips rather angrily, and set down the paper, crawling over and leaning beside Wyatt on the rock.

"I was only drawing you sleeping…" He muttered, picking a stray bit of grass from his messy brown hair. He seemed to think that that justified his actions so he said no more. Wyatt gave a small snort at the boy. "You're just on a teenage power trip." Ambrose huffed out. To this Wyatt looked up, with a confused glare.

"Do you even know what that means?" He asked.

"Of course! I'm best in all my lessons after all…" He replied, avoiding admittance that he just picked up the phrase from a teacher. "_Teenager_." He muttered.

"You're only a month younger than me, Ambrose." He grunted again, replacing his hat over his eyes, and slipping down the rock, enjoying the late spring sun.

"So?" He said, sliding in closer to the boy. "Where'd you get the hat?" He asked. Wyatt pulled the grey hat lower.

"Mom let me have it for my birthday. It used to be Dad's." He closed his eyes tight, trying to remember his father. The images came back wavering like water, but nonetheless there he was. His mother told him that he looked just like him; bright pale blue eyes, blonde hair. He could see himself bouncing on his father's knee, asking if one day he could be a Tin Man too. Inevitably, the thought of his father brought back the painful memory of his death. A bullet had found him on a mission; a car full of his fellow officers came by, bringing the news and the painful sight of his body for burial. Wyatt could never forget that day, never would let himself.

"Wyatt?" Ambrose asked lifting the brim and peeking at his best friends face. Wyatt attempted a smile up at him.

"Thank you for the present by the way." Ambrose giggled, and pushed his hat back down.

"Oh, shut up. You know you didn't like it." He tilted his face into the sun. Wyatt pulled him into his arms, and rolled away from the rock, pinning Ambrose to the ground. Ambrose pouted up at him.

"I love your drawings Sweetheart."

"Don't call me that…" Ambrose blushed a little, his pout increasing.

"But it's true." He said, laying down across Ambrose's chest, and breathing in the scent of grass. "I love your drawings, and you're a sweetheart…" He whispered, closing his eyes.

"Liar." Ambrose took the opportunity, and rolled the slightly heavier boy over, grabbing his hat and putting it on his head as he ran away chanting "No I'm not!"

Wyatt jumped up and chased him. "Ambrose! Give me my hat back!" Ambrose just giggled, and jumped away through the weeds.

"Dance with me Wyatt!" He called, his jumps turning into spins. Wyatt caught him, and forgot about getting his hat when Ambrose swept him into another one of his dances. Ambrose was pure rhythm, Wyatt had once thought. Straight from the soul, as Ambrose tended to declare. Wyatt went along with the dance, spinning and laughing, even tossing in a few moves of his own. Ambrose giggled when Wyatt dipped him low, and pulled him back up. "You're a lovely dancer…" Ambrose cooed. Wyatt just smiled. His smile faltered, however, when he looked past Ambrose's head.

"Wyatt…" came a soft female voice. Ambrose turned, releasing himself from Wyatt's grip to see a beautiful woman approaching them. She had on a blue dress, and a woven shawl, that when coupled with her prematurely graying hair, gave the look of an older middle aged lady. One look at her face though, and Ambrose knew that this was Wyatt's mother. She smiled kindly, laugh lines creasing around her mouth and eyes. "Honey, who's your friend?" she asked.

Wyatt rushed forward, and grasped his mothers arm gently. "Mother, you shouldn't be out of bed. You're still not better."

"Oh Wyatt, quit fussing over me, I'm not an old lady…" She said, but stayed by her son.

"Mother…this is Ambrose; he's the friend I was telling you about." Wyatt's face got quite red at admitting openly that he talked about Ambrose at home. Ambrose put on his most genial expression.

"It's lovely to meet you." He smiled. "Your son is a fantastic dancer, ma'am." He added. Wyatt's mother blushed a little bit.

"He gets that from me." She said with a wink "Oh, and don't call me ma'am. I'm hardly old enough for that. You can call me Isabelle. Come Ambrose, please join us for dinner."

"Well…Sure, it sounds wonderful." He smiled widely at Wyatt, who blushed a little more, and walked forward, taking Isabelle's other arm lightly, which made her exchange a look with Wyatt. One that made him, if possible, blush even more. They walked through the woods, Isabelle and Ambrose talking about dancing. The walk to Willwater village was short, and Wyatt and his mother lived on the closest side of town. His house was a rather small one story building. The wooden walls were grey with age, and the roof sagged a little bit in the middle. There were ladders, and equipment leaning against the side of the small barn. 'Wyatt must be fixing that all by himself…' Ambrose thought.

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Ambrose felt rather silly sitting at the table while Isabelle and Wyatt went around getting dinner ready. He had asked a few times to help, but they just told him to sit there. So he sat, feeling absolutely absurd. Finally, Wyatt, and Isabelle sat down at the table, offering up a quick prayer to the gods for the fields to prosper. Ambrose gazed down at a bowl of piping hot stew, and fresh bread. He smiled and picked up a spoon.

"It looks delicious Ma'a….Isabelle." He corrected. Isabelle smiled.

"Eat up. You're too skinny for your own good."

Ambrose glanced at Wyatt, and they exchanged a soft look. They ate in mostly silence, except for Isabelle asking various questions of Ambrose, and Wyatt's subtle embarrassment. Afterwards, Ambrose wouldn't allow them to clean up without him helping. Isabelle nodded and Wyatt, unable to argue, just settled for standing next to him as they cleaned dishes. The sun had begun to set by the time Ambrose was leaving. He knew that he would probably be in trouble, but today was too good for him to care.

"Wyatt, dear, why don't you walk Ambrose back home?" She suggested, retiring to the living room.

"Ambrose?" Wyatt gestured towards the door. Ambrose said his good bye's politely to Isabelle, and left with Wyatt.

"Your mother is a wonderful woman…" Ambrose said almost wistfully.

"Yeah, she's been through a lot, but nothing seems to stop her." The pride and sadness was evident in his voice, but Ambrose pretended not to hear. He linked an arm with him. Wyatt glanced down at the contact, and smiled a little. "What're your parents like?" He asked, quickly regretting it when Ambrose stiffened.

"They're okay. Dad works for the mayor, Mom stays at home. Pretty basic." He said almost like a rehearsed line, almost as if hiding something.

"Could I meet them?" Wyatt asked. He found it strange that in over a year of secret friendship, Ambrose had never once mentioned his family.

"…no." was the only answer he would afford. Wyatt knew better than to push the topic. He remained silent as they passed the field.

"I applied for The Academy." Wyatt said with pride.

"Awesome! I hope you get in." Ambrose replied, knowing that Wyatt had dreamed of going to The Academy to become a Tin Man his entire life. That was all that was said on that. Both boys knew that if Wyatt was accepted he wouldn't return for a long time. Five annuals of training, including all schooling and of course the police training, and one of application were required to become a true Tin Man. It was a sacrifice, but one Wyatt was willing to make to be like his father. Ambrose stopped him. Wyatt could see lights from houses on the outskirts of Goldtown, and knew that Ambrose probably wouldn't let him any nearer to his house.

"Good night, Wyatt." He said, and hugged his best friend, unwilling to let go.

"Good night, Sweetheart." Wyatt said, and brushed his lips across the boy's cheek. The stood there blushing, and staring at each others shoes before Ambrose turned to go. Wyatt watched him leave, then turned and walked back home, quickening his pace so that it was not long after dark when he got there.

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**Authors Note: Hello! Please review...my ego is looking a little peaky lately. And you know, for every person that reads a story without reviewing...Merpeople eat an innocent puppy. Think of the puppies, my friends.  
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